


The Truth Hurts

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Community: random_fic_is_random, Community: three weeks for dw, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, M/M, Master/Slave, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-26
Updated: 2010-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a snippet of porn written in <a href="http://helens78.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://helens78.dreamwidth.org/"><strong>helens78</strong></a>'s "Shameless" universe.  One thing I always noticed in that universe is that though it's dealing with slavery and there are a lot of ethical issues, there actually are choices offered/efforts made to make a good match between slave and owner.  In this snippet, I decided to explore what would happen with a slave who really took the "you have no say in what happens to you" to heart and refused to divulge his preferences.  It takes place a bit before the main events of the "Shameless" verse, with Bruce probably in his thirties and Anton about 18/19.  And I had to add a postlude, because I'm like that, but the story itself can be read on its own if you don't demand happy endings.  *g*</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://random-fic-is-random.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**random_fic_is_random**](http://random-fic-is-random.dreamwidth.org/) alchemy fundraiser for [](http://helens78.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**helens78**](http://helens78.dreamwidth.org/). This is also being posted to DW only for the [](http://three-weeks-for-dw.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**three_weeks_for_dw**](http://three-weeks-for-dw.dreamwidth.org/) fest. Of course, this is not canon for "Shameless." Helens owns the playground, I'm just throwing sand.

This might turn out to be a bit of a mess.

Might turn out to be, because Bruce can't turn down a fucking challenge, because the flatness in the boy's eyes, the efficiency of his movements at the Thursday lunch, all said _wrong_ to Bruce. He's not an idealist, far from it, and this isn't his first contract, but he's still relatively new to all this, to having slaves, to having money to throw around. And he'd be lying if he didn't admit, to himself at least, that the bid was an effort to prove certain people wrong. Neeson, especially; he saw the almost pitying look in that bastard's eyes, looking like he owned the place, and he's only a few years older than Bruce himself. Bruce isn't going to let himself be shoved around by older money.

Of course now he's got Anton for six months. Anton, who's pretty much the definition of a slave in it due to financial need, Anton who's still too thin and sits with an impeccably straight back, with hard eyes, with a kind of wisdom in the way he holds himself that makes Bruce nervous.

"What do you like?" Bruce asks.

Anton sits stock-still where Bruce has put him, in a formal kneel in the middle of the living room floor, and seeing the pity in _Anton's_ eyes is almost too much. "That's a question without an answer, Master."

"Don't fuck around with me, boy. It's a serious question. Don't tell me there's nothing you like."

"I don't have the luxury of self-reflection," Anton replies dryly. Bruce frowns. He's not going to take the bait.

"Do you hate this?"

"Hate what, Master? Slavery?"

"Yeah. Do you hate it?"

"It serves a purpose. Slavery is a lucrative occupation." There's a hint of a smirk on the boy's lips, and Bruce finds he likes it.

"Fair enough. I don't expect you to be my friend. But I don't get off on torturing boys, either."

Anton shrugs. "You have my contract."

"And you have your check-ins. But boredom is its own kind of torture."

Anton's eyebrows go up, just slightly. "You think I don't know that?"

"I know that this is your first contract, boy, and it could get a hell of a lot worse."

"Just because I'm new to Eclipse doesn't mean I'm new to _life_. Master."

The smirk's back, more of a sneer now, and it's not pretty but it's feeling, and to Bruce that's better than nothing.

"Your trainer noted that you respond neutrally to pain. Very obedient, not very responsive."

"Am I supposed to comment on that?"

"If you like."

"No, thank you."

Bruce sighs. "Get over here."

Anton obeys the order immediately, tipping onto his hands and crawling to the space in between Bruce's thighs. Then it's back to that formal kneel, and Bruce frowns. "Spread your knees a little more. You can kneel down." Again, the order is followed, but no expression of gratitude goes with it. He's got a gorgeous young naked slave kneeling in front of him, and Bruce isn't hard. This could present a problem. "Do you like to read, kid?"

Anton looks confused by the question. "I guess."

"Here. Read. Break position if you want." Anton frowns as Bruce hands him the e-reader, but Bruce doesn't stick around to talk about it. There's a computer in the study, and work he could be doing. Maybe he'll figure this out in the meantime.

\----

Three hours later, Bruce's stomach is growling for lunch and his work is driving him up a wall. He walks quietly back to the living room, boots silent on the carpet, and watches Anton for a moment from the doorway. The kid's abandoned his kneeling posture and is lying on his stomach in the middle of the floor, the reader in front of him. Knees bent, feet in the air. He looks impossibly young, and for a moment Bruce wonders what the kid might have been, had circumstances been different. But they're not, and Bruce isn't kidding himself. The minute you start getting emotional about contracts is the minute things go off the rails, and he knows that this is giving Anton opportunities he never would've had without Eclipse. On the other hand, he knows better than to paint himself as a savior. He's an owner, and at the moment he's both hungry and horny.

"Get me a sandwich, kid," Bruce orders gruffly, returning to his chair as Anton startles and scrambles to his feet. "Turkey, lettuce, mayo, Swiss. And a beer. You can eat yours after." Anton needs a little more meat on his bones, but he's not completely gaunt. He's been fed well during training and Bruce is feeling indulgent, letting the kid take comfort in an order. From the chair he bends down and lifts the abandoned reader, checking the title at the top of the screen. _Interpreter of Maladies_. Bruce has never read it, but at least it's clear the kid's not stupid. He half expected a comic book, which is ridiculous, he knows. He puts the reader on the end table and gets comfortable, taking the plate when Anton returns and enjoying a long pull on the beer before he sets it down. He eats half the sandwich, Anton kneeling at his feet, before he opens his fly one-handed and nods at him. "Go on."

He's good at it, if perfunctory. It's all very proper, tongue swirling around the head, suckling gently until Bruce is fully hard and then sliding down the length, down up, down up. Bruce wonders if he counts seconds between steps. He finishes the sandwich and puts the plate aside, grabs the beer. "Are you bored, Anton?"

Anton raises his eyebrows and pulls off. "No more than usual, Master."

"What would it take to get you to suck my goddamned cock like you mean it?"

Anton's expression shifts back into trained blankness. "For me to mean it, Master."

Bruce backhands him casually for the comment, but Anton doesn't react. His head returns to its former position, pink rising in his cheek. Bruce is five seconds always from losing his temper and shoving the boy to the floor, but that's not what he really wants. He thinks about it some more. _Very obedient. Not very responsive._

"All right, Anton. Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, Master."

"Listen, because this is a direct fucking order, and if you try to get around it I have absolutely no fucking compunctions about locking you in a closet for a few days with food and water and a bowl to piss in. Every boy has his limits."

"Master," Anton murmurs.

"All right boy, here's your order. I want you to do what you want with me. Anything you want that doesn't take me out of this chair. But you can't just sit there, and you have to mean it."

Anton frowns. "Is this a trick, Master?"

"No it's not."

"Anything."

"Anything."

"Fine," Anton sighs. He reaches for Bruce's fly, and if the kid gives him a handjob he's probably going to have to come up with a punishment short of the closet that won't get Eclipse on him, something to teach him to obey a goddamned direct fucking...

Bruce hisses, arching away, head falling back, teeth gritting and eyes watering at the pain, but he doesn't tell Anton to stop. The pinch is tiny, concentrated, brutal, just one little pinch to one of his balls and it fucking _hurts_, but the trainer was right. Anton's obedient. He damn well means it. Bruce takes the effort to look up, meet Anton's eyes, and Anton's grinning, smirking, when he finally lets go. Through the tears and the urge to hug his knees to his chest, Bruce grins back. Anton reels back and smacks him against the face, and Bruce wonders if Anton knows that he's got a safeword. Probably doesn't matter. He's not going to give the kid that satisfaction. Anton smacks him again, tugs his shirt so hard the buttons fly off, scratches his chest, and then something in Anton's expression changes. He goes from satisfaction to frustration, shaking Bruce by the shoulders, and it's at about that point that Bruce notices Anton is hard against his thigh and crying silent tears. Anton's mouth slams down against his own, teeth pulling, and then Bruce pulls Anton back by the chin, fixes him with a hard gaze.

"You like it. You like it and it fucking pisses you off."

"Go to hell," Anton spits.

"You first."

Anton snarls and smacks Bruce again, but his chest is heaving and Bruce can see he's losing the battle. Bruce puts his beer back on the table, half of it sloshed onto the chair and the carpet but fuck if he cares.

"You're not fucking supposed to..."

"To what? To give a shit?"

"I hate you," Anton rasps.

"No you don't. You hate yourself. You barely know me."

"Oh _fuck_ you."

"Get on the floor and suck my cock like you mean it," Bruce growls into Anton's mouth, and to Bruce's surprise, Anton does. He slithers down to his knees and it's not graceful; the way he licks all over Bruce's cock, the way he shoves it down his throat with a violent movement of his head, is full of hatred. For himself, for his situation, Bruce doesn't know, but it's more real than anything else this afternoon, and Bruce growls a few choice curses as he comes, Anton not meeting his eye, just swallowing and slumping down on the floor with his breath coming hard, his eyes on the floor in shame. His cheek is next to the instep of Bruce's boot, and Bruce watches, with something not quite like surprise, as Anton's tongue darts out, swiping over the leather. Anton's crying again, sniffling, as he bathes Bruce's boot with his tongue, little cat-like licks, but it's obvious he isn't doing it because he thinks he has to. It's possibly the strangest security blanket Bruce has encountered, but Anton's curled into a ball on his beer-stained carpet, licking Bruce's boots for comfort, and there's nothing he can do. Absolutely nothing he can do, but mumble a "good boy" and offer the other foot.

\----

_Postlude: Five Years Later_

"Hey, Anton. This your new one?"

Anton grins and nods, running his fingers through John's hair. It's the second Thursday of the month, and the boy's showing remarkable potential. "It is. John, this is Christian, one of our aimless trainers for the moment."

"I get a new assignment on Monday," Christian explains for the boy's benefit, rolling his eyes. "Any interest in him yet?"

"I have a couple of bites."

Christian grins at Anton and runs his finger lightly over a set of pink marks on John's neck, prompting a slight shiver from the boy. "I see you do."

"Hey man, can you blame me?" Anton laughs. "My teeth, they have minds of their own."

"So I remember well."

Anton starts, then laughs, turning and standing to pull Bruce into a tight hug. "I bet you do, old man."

"Tsk tsk. Respect your elders, gorgeous. And speaking of gorgeous, who's this?"

"This is John," Anton grins, gesturing for Bruce to have a seat as Christian claps them both on the back and moves on. "Are you in the market?"

"Hmm. I think I just might be. What's he like?"

"Takes well to pain. I know you like that."

Bruce meets Anton's eyes and his smile softens, his hand reaching across the table to give Anton's cheek a brief rub with his thumb. It's a move only Bruce could really get away with. "If he takes well to it under your belt, that's a high tolerance indeed."

"Can't go too easy," Anton murmurs, returning the smile. Bruce's hand is in John's hair, and he thinks he's got a new bidder, but his mind is elsewhere. "They'll never learn."

"Mm, no," Bruce agrees, shaking his head and gently slipping a bite of sushi onto John's tongue. "They never will."


End file.
